To Hell and Back (2 page)

Chapter Two

Brielle

“I think she’s waking up. Let’s see how she is before we do anything.”

“She didn’t look like she was feeling very well when she got here. I hope she didn’t hurt anything when she passed out.”

I slowly begin to realize that I’m no longer headed out the door of the store, but lying on its floor.  I hear Mr. Miller and another, vaguely familiar, male voice but I’m not entirely sure what they’re saying.  It’s kind of like they’re underwater and it takes me a second to process everything.  I can hear other customers asking if anyone called 911 or if anyone called my parents. Good God, I hope not. I’d be in serious trouble if Hank got a hospital bill or had to come down here amid all the fuss to pick me up.

I know Edith is here, too, because I hear her say, “Are you sure we shouldn’t call an ambulance?  Do you think he did something to her again?  You know he’s a mean old drunk.  I just can’t stand it.  She’s such a nice girl.  I remember her mother.  Do you remember her mother?  She was a nice lady, too.  And pretty.  Even when she got all bald from the chemo she was pretty.  What was I saying?”  I smile a little on the inside at Edith’s concern.  She tends to ramble on about things but she always means well. 

I finally open my eyes and see several people standing around me.  Mrs. Dodd, the nurse from my elementary school, is there and I notice for the first time that she’s holding my wrist.  I guess she must be taking my pulse. 
Oh, God, just how many people saw me go down?
  Mr. Miller is helping me sit up slowly and asking me if I’m okay, but my focus is elsewhere.  I’m pretty sure I must have hit my head when I fell because that sure looks like Carson Malone standing there talking to Edith.  Carson Malone was the star of Stonewall Academy, the primetime show about a vampire high school, before it went off the air last year.  He’s gorgeous and sexy and just the kind of guy whose poster I would have kissed back when I was still having slumber parties with Cassie.  I haven’t been getting my fill of him lately, though.  He kind of dropped off the face of the Earth after the show was cancelled, so the tabloids haven’t had much to say about him.  There is no way in hell that could be Carson Malone. If it is, I may as well just pass out again now because nothing Hank ever did or made me do will have been quite this embarrassing. 

“How are you feeling? Can you hear us? Brie?”

I realize that Mr. Miller is talking to me and growing increasingly concerned that I haven’t answered him.  I shake my head a little to clear it and turn to him.  I’m just going to pretend I was not staring at some guy who looks kind of like my celebrity crush and picturing myself kiss his paper lips on a torn out centerfold poster…

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller.  Thanks for your help, too, Mrs. Dodd. I’m fine now. Really. I’m just embarrassed to have caused a fuss. I haven’t been feeling well, and… No one called an ambulance, did they?” I add, more quietly, “Or my dad?”

“No, honey, we haven’t called anyone.  You didn’t look like you were feeling too good when you got here so I just figured you overdid it a bit.  You really should be home in bed, little lady.”

Mr. Miller is full of terms of endearment like sweetheart and doll.  Everyone is family to him.  His way of speaking to me is so much more fatherly than anything my own father would say that I find myself wishing, just for a moment, that I was a Miller.  Sitting here feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to help me get off this floor and back to my house, so, with another clearing shake of my head, I start to get stand up.

“Hang on, let me help.” 

I know that voice.  I listened to it every Thursday night for three years.  I recorded it and all of its companions on our DVR and watched it every single week after Hank dozed off for the night. That is the voice of Maxwell Presley, hottest vampire at Stonewall. It’s the voice of Carson Malone. 
OHMYGOD
. It’s really him; it has to be. He has the face, the eyes, and now the voice.  Maybe I’m still unconscious.  What other reason would the object of all my teenage fantasies be doing here, witnessing my most epic of public embarrassments?

“Let’s stand you up carefully. Does anything hurt?”

Just my pride. 
I slowly turn my face toward the man with the warm hands that are guiding me up off the floor. I’m staring straight into what are possibly the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and, adding to this mortifying event, I say the first thing that pops into my head.  “Are those contacts?”

His light laugh feels like hot chocolate warming me up from the inside as he says “I think she’s okay.” The few bystanders that are still watching us, including Mr. Miller and Mrs. Dodd, murmur their relief and begin to disperse.  I find myself thinking
I hope none of them took pictures of this. 
I’m happy to have become a nobody at school, a ghost just waiting her turn to cross the stage and grab her diploma before moving on. I was never really picked on or anything, but pictures can be worth a million words, especially when a pale, shaky me is being helped off the floor by a super famous über-hunk like Carson.

“No, they’re not contacts. I get that a lot, though. So, do you think you can walk out to the parking lot? I can give you a ride home. It’s not just me, so you don’t have to worry I’m a creep or anything. I mean, I have Lucy to drive me.  She’s my driver.  I can drive and everything, it’s just…  I don’t know why I’m rambling.  Something about you makes me kind of nervous.  I’m not normally like this.  You just seem so uncomfortable, which, of course you are.  You’re kind of the damsel in distress right now and that can’t be fun.  So I feel like being your hero.  Or your knight or something.”

“I don’t need a hero
or
a knight.  I just need to go home.”  Wow, who would have thought Carson Malone would be such a mess?  As if someone like me could make
him
the slightest bit anxious.  I’m not sure what his deal is but it’s possible that my teenage fantasies have just been shattered.

“Okay, well, I can help with that. Like I said, I have a driver outside and we would be more than happy to bring you home.”

He’s starting to get it together; less rambling, more confidence. I’m not sure what brings a television star to Marshall, Pennsylvania – otherwise known as the middle of nowhere – but since he’s here and willing, and I could really use a ride home, I’ll go with it.  The last thing I need is to pass out again on the side of the road.  I need to get home where I can down some of this medicine and maybe a bowl of soup.  If I’m lucky I can probably nod off for another half an hour or so before Hank wakes up. That’s assuming I wasn’t unconscious more than a minute or two.  I don’t think I was; if I was out that long there would be an ambulance here by now.

“Okay, sure. Thanks for the offer. I just live a couple of blocks down so it will only take a minute.”

“Better than you ending up out cold on the side of the road, right?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“You don’t want to swing by the hospital to get checked out or anything first? It looks like you might have a little swelling on your face. Does it hurt at all?”

It hurts like a bitch, actually.  Dammit, Hank.  It had to be the face today. 
“No, really, it’s fine. With all the stuffiness and eye watering I think I’m just a little puffy.” Yep, super sexy. This is just how I always wanted to meet this guy; talking about the goo that comes from my nose. Lord, please just get me out of here.

“Okay, home it is.”

Less than five minutes later Lucy, a spitfire of a woman with red hair way too bright to be natural and a sense of humor that goes on for miles, pulls up to my house.  I’ve asked her to just let me out by the curb rather than pull in the driveway.  There is a much smaller chance of waking Hank that way.  I have no idea how I would explain a Lexus parked in the driveway, let alone one containing a life-sized caricature of Lucille Ball and a Hollywood hunk. Carson, who I have noticed has introduced me to Lucy but not introduced himself, offers to walk me to the door, but I decline and thank them both.

Walking into the house, I find myself wishing again that I still had friends close enough to call for some gossip. Sure, the gossip is about me, but it isn’t every day some girl in Marshall is brought home by a TV vampire.  Those thoughts are short-lived as I hear Hank head down the upstairs hallway toward the bathroom. I down the meds I picked up and decide to start heating some soup anyway. Hopefully Hank will have sobered up a bit and will be ready for a bit of dinner and a quiet, uneventful evening.

Chapter Three

Brielle

It has been almost a week since my “episode” at Miller’s and I’m feeling a lot better. Thankfully, Hank was in a better mood when he woke up that night. He spent the evening watching ESPN and ignoring me.  He met some woman at his favorite bar during a dart tournament on Sunday afternoon so I didn’t even see him again until Wednesday. That happens every now and again, and as completely disgusting as it is to think of Hank having a three-day fuck fest with some slut he picked up, it’s better than having him home bothering me.  Between the blow to my face and the sinus pressure it was a full two days before my head stopped pounding, so I was happy with the time to myself.  I dragged myself to school Monday morning so I wouldn’t fall behind on anything and was relieved to find that no one seemed to know anything about my mishap over the weekend.  No one even seemed to know about Carson Malone being in Marshall, which seemed kind of strange. I guess it was just me and the older crowd at Miller’s on Saturday afternoon. I must have been the only one to know who he was.

On Friday afternoon, I meet with the school guidance counselor, Ms. Bailey, before I get on the bus to head home.  I am the only senior who still rides that thing but with no car and no friends there isn’t really another option.  I head down to her office and knock on the door. 

“Hi, Brielle.  How has your week been?  Sorry I haven’t checked in with you lately; we have had a lot of juniors coming in with application questions.  How are things going?  You seem a little under-the-weather.”

I always get a kind of “mom vibe” from Ms. Bailey; I know she means well, but there just isn’t anything she can do for me.   “I’m doing well, thanks.  I just have a case of the sniffles and a red nose from all the tissues I’ve used this week, no big deal.”  I’m hoping she only called me in here because I was next up on her list.  The last thing I need is to be dodging questions and curious teachers when I only have a few months left in this town.

She smiles at me and reaches for an unopened box of tissues sitting on her shelf.  “Here, take these,” she tells me.  “They have lotion in them and everything.”

I mumble my thanks and put the box in my bag.  “I have to go soon so I can catch the bus. What did you want to talk about?” Please, God, nothing personal…

“I saw your name on the list of early acceptances from the community college. I’ve been calling in each student on the list to see if they have made any decisions or need any help from me.”

I am almost dizzy with the relief I feel. It’s panic-inducing to be called to speak with someone when you have so much to hide.

“I haven’t really decided anything yet. I’m waiting on some other colleges I applied to. I’ve also sent in all of my financial aid applications, so I’m all set. Thanks for checking on me, though,” I tell her as I pull my bag up over my shoulder. I reach for the doorknob, indicating that I have nothing more to say, but as I start to turn the handle, she says my name.

“Brielle, just remember, if you need anything, I’m right here in this office. For anything,” she stresses the last word, stressing my nerves at the same time.

“Thanks, Ms. Bailey, I appreciate that.  I’ll see you later.”  I pretty much fly out the door, glad for the conversation to be over. 

My bus is just pulling up as I get outside. I take a deep breath and climb on board, not really wanting to stay at school, but definitely not thrilled about going home.

***

Walking in the door to my house, I can hear Hank on the phone with one of his buddies. It sounds like there is going to be a poker game somewhere tonight and Hank is bringing Sheila, the bar slut from last weekend.  At least he won’t be around to harass me.  Maybe I can finally have a peaceful Friday evening and get some homework done instead of waiting on Hank hand and foot before cramming all my work into the late hours of Sunday night. 

Daydreaming about the effortless pot pie I am going to have for dinner and the freedom I will have to play whatever music I want, I almost miss the knock at the door.  I hear another, more forceful knock and Hank yells “Hang on just a damned minute!” I hear him tell his buddy goodbye and head for the front door.  I am not allowed to answer the door for any reason. Once, when I was fifteen, a teacher got suspicious that I might be having trouble at home and showed up on our front steps.  I answered and let him in.  He and Hank talked for a good fifteen minutes. Hank, of course, reassured him that there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about.  He explained that my mother had died a few months before, which all of my teachers already knew, and that we were just “adjusting”. That mistake cost me six weeks in a cast for a broken wrist.  We just told everyone I’m really clumsy and I fell down the stairs.  The local police don’t like to take too long a look at one of their own, so Hank’s stories always seem to be accepted at face value.

I peek around the corner from the kitchen to see who is crazy enough to show up here and for a second, it looks like Carson.  I quickly duck back into the kitchen to get my head on straight.  I put my hand to my forehead to make sure my fever hasn’t returned.  Yeah, Brie, Carson Malone just happened to be so worried about you that he came back to your house to check on you a week later.  I had better find the thermometer. I look back around the corner, but Hank is blocking me from seeing who is standing there. The unlucky visitor is definitely getting an earful.